


Ten Silk Scarves

by phdJohnlock



Series: The Good Tevinter [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Light Bondage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 19:08:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5882176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phdJohnlock/pseuds/phdJohnlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started innocently enough. Well, not innocently, but it was just witty banter. "If you can find me ten silk scarves, I've got a dance that will really shock them."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ten Silk Scarves

It started innocently enough. Well, not _innocently_ , but it was just witty banter. A clever remark, meant to bolster Trevelyan’s spirits while he combed a palace full of two-faced Orlesians for an assassination plot.

“If you can find me ten silk scarves, I’ve got a dance that will REALLY shock them.”

Maxwell had chuckled and continued on his way, and of course he gallantly saved the day and the Empress and the future of the whole damned nation. Dorian didn’t swoon, when Maxwell swaggered to the center of the ballroom and exposed Florianne’s treachery to the entirety of the court, but it was a near thing. And when he found Maxwell exhausted out on the balcony, they shared a slow waltz under the stars that Dorian carried with him like sunshine under his skin for the next month. The amusing quip was forgotten almost the moment it fell from his lips.

So Dorian found himself confused and not a small bit curious when he retired to his alcove one evening to find a blue silk scarf on his chair. It was tied in a series of knots, or - on second glance - perhaps just one very complicated knot. And folded up, all wedged in the folds and nearly invisible, was a tiny slip of paper.

_There are nine more in my quarters_ , it said.

Dorian blinked. Obviously the note, and the scarf, were meant for him, or they wouldn’t be in his chair. And obviously they were from Trevelyan, because it’s not like he was in the habit recently of going to anyone else’s quarters. _Not even your own, Pavus._  But he had no idea what they meant.

However, Dorian had never shied from an invitation to a man’s private rooms, and he certainly wasn’t about to start. Cheerfully, he snuffed out the candles and trotted down the stairs. He passed through Solas’ “office,” if one could really call it that, but of course the elf wasn’t there. At this hour - it must have been nearly one in the morning - Dorian would have bet Varric any amount of money that Solas was traipsing around the Fade somewhere. As he headed out through the main hall, he heard the grating whine of Orlesian accents that meant Vivienne was entertaining some insipid nobility on her balcony. But the main floor was quiet and shadowed, and he slipped through the door at the foot of Trevelyan’s tower, locking it with a flick of his magical wrist behind him.

Dorian took the stairs two at a time, eager for whatever interesting treat surely awaited him. He reached up to check that his hair was all in order - _always important to make a good impression, Pavus_  - before approaching the Inquisitor’s closed door, where another blue silk scarf hung from the door handle. He pulled at one end, and it slid easily through his fingers as he folded it neatly alongside the first scarf. Dorian opened the door.

A fire crackled in the hearth, lending a welcome warmth to the normally cool air of the tower. But even aside from the fireplace, there were a number of candles burning on various surfaces around the large room. Several of them seemed to be clustered on the small tables at either side of the bed, leaving the impressive four-poster awash in brighter light than the rest of the space. _Excellent,_  thought Dorian. He did so love when he could see Trevelyan in all his glory.

“Well, hello. I’m glad you got my invitation.” The man himself was seated on the low seat in front of the fire, sipping some undoubtedly dreadful Marcher concoction. He smiled up at Dorian coyly, and Dorian seated himself next to the Inquisitor with a matching smile.

“I certainly did, although I confess it one of the more cryptic messages I’ve received this week.” Dorian poured himself a glass of whatever Maxwell was drinking, and took a cautious sip. _By the Maker!_  Not anything dreadful at all, but in fact a quite enjoyable Antivan port.

“Where on earth did you steal this from? Skyhold has probably never seen alcohol this tolerable before.” Even that small sip made him feel pleasantly warm - although, that may also have been attributable to the company.

Maxwell chuckled. “You only think that because the first drink you had here was from Bull. _No one_  likes that stuff, Doe. Probably not even Bull.” As he spoke he moved closer to Dorian, swinging one leg over the bench so he straddled it. Dorian pretended not to notice as Maxwell gently trailed the back of his fingers from the nape of his neck to his tailbone. Maxwell grinned when he caused Dorian to inadvertently shiver, and buried his smile in the mage’s neck.

Dorian continued to stare into the fire as he pretended not to notice his lover doing a hundred distracting things with his hands and his mouth. It was such exquisite torture, Trevelyan’s teeth nipping at his earlobe, while his fingers traced the lines of Dorian’s back and stomach and thighs. He let out a sigh, a bit shakier than he intended, as Maxwell’s fingertips just brushed the hardening length in his trousers.

Then, tragically, Maxwell stood up and away from Dorian, whose head lolled back in a most undignified fashion. _Why is he ever allowed to stop touching me? What a cruel world._ But then Maxwell’s hands were back, taking Dorian’s glass from him and setting it aside, before guiding Dorian to his feet. As they stood, toe to toe, Dorian had a moment to admire the flicker of firelight on Maxwell’s lovely skin, darker even than his own. The kohl around his eyes blended into the edges of ink that Dorian had been surprised to see, at first, on the face of a noble. He had thought that tattoos were frowned upon, if not for nobles then _definitely_ for assassins. Hard to be inconspicuous when you’ve got permanent identifying marks on your face. But Trevelyan had laughed this concern away when Dorian voiced it, and then disappeared right in front of his eyes. Which, Dorian had to admit, was a pretty good way of staying incognito.

Dorian’s train of thought was interrupted when Maxwell placed his hands on either side of his face, smoothing his thumbs along Dorian’s cheekbones, and pulled him in for a kiss. But before Dorian could deepen the kiss, Maxwell pulled away with a wicked smile on his face.

“Come to the bed,” he said, “and bring those two scarves with you.” 

Dorian scooped them up as he sauntered nonchalantly toward the bed. Maxwell took the scarves from his hands and gently pushed him back so he lay in the middle, Maxwell straddling him and propped up on his forearms. He kissed Dorian gently, merely a brush of lips, before grinding his clothed erection down onto Dorian’s. Dorian’s hands made his way to Maxwell’s waist, making to pull up his shirt, but Maxwell sat up and pulled his hands away.

Dorian affected his best pout. “ _Amatus_ , I am quite sure that your clothes need to come off for this next part.”

“Oh, they will,” replied Maxwell, “but I need yours to come off first.” He regarded Dorian coyly from beneath his eyelashes.

Dorian acquiesced, with a quirk of his eyebrow, running a hand over his torso and magicking open the various buckles and clasps holding his very stylish - but admittedly, somewhat impractical - robe on. Maxwell ran his hands along Dorian’s chest, pushing the clothing down his arms, until Dorian sat up and captured his mouth in a deep kiss. Maxwell’s tongue slid into his mouth as he pulled the sleeves off Dorian’s hands, casting the garment aside.

Maxwell allowed them to sit that way for a moment, his hands wandering Dorian’s back while his lips teased and tantalized at Dorian’s own. A small moan escaped before he pushed Dorian back down, ignoring the protestations Dorian voiced in favor of working the buttons open on his trousers. Dorian quit protesting as Maxwell palmed his hard cock, just for a moment, before pushing his trousers and smallclothes in one unceremonious bunch down to his ankles.

He pushed back onto his heels, then climbed backward off the bed and pulled Dorian’s pants all the way off. He then stood, staring, with a hungry look in his eyes, at his prize.

“Like what you see, do you?” Dorian drawled. He drew one hand slowly down his torso, across the planes of his abdominals, until he could smooth it over his cock, giving himself a lazy stroke. Maxwell’s eyelids fluttered and he let out a shaky breath, but then he shook his head slightly, smiling, and moved for the scarves.

“You know I do, but I had something particular in mind tonight.” He once again straddled Dorian, placing the scarves on Dorian’s chest.

“Ah, yes, please. Tell me about the scarves.” Dorian tried not to push his hips up into Trevelyan on top of him, he really did, but the friction was exquisite.

“Well,” said Maxwell slowly, dragging the end of a scarf over just the tip of Dorian’s cock, and causing Dorian’s breath to hitch, “you said something at the Winter Palace that really caught my interest. Something about ten silk scarves. And that’s just, kind of, stuck in my head ever since.” He licked his lips, and Dorian _wanted_  that tongue on him.

“So what do you intend to do with them, _amatus_? Are you going to perform for me?” Dorian didn’t really remember what he had said, but his mind happily supplied him with images of Maxwell gyrating in front of him, wrapping himself artfully in silk, and he _thoroughly_ enjoyed those images.

“Not quite.” Maxwell seemed almost hesitant.

“Okay,” said Dorian, placing his hands as reassuringly as he could on Maxwell’s knees. “What would you like to do, then?”

Maxwell seemed to flush a bit, which Dorian thought was just adorable. “I - well - I thought actually that I could tie you up with them.” This came out in a bit of a rush. Clearly Maxwell was nervous, but Dorian felt the fire inside him rise up at even the words.

“Yes,” he purred. “I think that I would like that.”

After a brief discussion of limits and of safewords - one they had had in more detail before, after a somewhat disastrous attempt to spice up a long winter’s evening - Maxwell was bent over Dorian once again, mouthing at his jawline, while his clever hands undid the knotted scarf.

Dorian sucked in a breath as Maxwell sat up on his knees - his still-clothed knees, _kaffas_ , how was that possible? - and gently brought Dorian’s right hand to the bedpost, looping the scarf around each several time and tying it snugly. Dorian tested the knot - he couldn’t easily pull his arm free, but neither was it painful. He looked up into Maxwell’s kind eyes as Maxwell stroked down his arm, touch light enough to tickle. Dorian felt a thrill at his containment. Maxwell moved to his left wrist, with the same gentle care and the same loving caresses afterward.

With both of Dorian’s arms spread and held in place, he couldn’t help feeling decidedly vulnerable. He trusted Maxwell implicitly, of course - Maxwell had never harmed him, intentionally or otherwise, and in any case it’s difficult not to trust someone who has saved your life a dozen times in battle. And, above and beyond the vulnerability, he felt a thrill that he couldn’t quite describe.

“Will you come here for a moment, please,” he cooed. “I require a bit of attention from your delicious lips.”

Maxwell chuckled and acquiesced, kissing Dorian sweetly, his plump lips teasing and his tongue working against Dorian’s. But all too quickly, he pulled back with a wicked smile. Dorian moaned, straining to get one last kiss before his lover moved away.

“Patience, young man.” Maxwell teased him with a feather-light touch to his nipple, which had Dorian humming with pleasure. “I’m not done with all these yet.”

To each of Dorian’s feet Maxwell paid the same careful attention, stroking Dorian’s calf and kissing the arch of his foot before looping the soft silk around his ankle and knotting it to the bedpost. Where the other scarves were coming from, Dorian hadn’t the foggiest. He was too distracted by Maxwell’s hands, his nimble fingers, to pay it any amount of attention.

Finally, Maxwell straightened and observed his handiwork. Dorian could see the fire behind his eyes, and it only served to ignite Dorian’s own flame even further. His cock lay heavy against his stomach, a bead of precome at his slit, simply begging to be licked away, perhaps sucked into Maxwell’s warm, wet mouth. He licked his lips, wanting.

“You’ve got me all tied up like a pretty package.” Dorian’s voice was husky, and he could see the effect it had on Maxwell as he visibly swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Now what will you do with me, serah?”

Maxwell smiled a crooked smile, tilting his head to the side. “Well, I believe that you mentioned a show. A dance, even. So I think perhaps you need to watch.” From behind his back he pulled another scarf - _Maker, where did these all come from?_  - and moved to Dorian’s side. Slowly, he reached out to caress Dorian’s jaw. “May I place this scarf in your mouth?”

Dorian considered. This, he certainly hadn’t done before. During sex he preferred to be able to talk to his partners, walk them through what they were doing, whisper filthy comments into their ear as they sought their pleasure. But for Maxwell, he would try anything at least once.

“You may,” he acquiesced, and Maxwell twisted the scarf so it formed a rope that would fit in Dorian’s mouth, rendering him unable to speak but easily able to breathe.

“Can you get that out of your mouth if you need to use your safe word?” Maxwell asked. He fidgeted a bit. He really was nervous, wasn't he? As if Dorian wasn't loving every moment of this. How darling.

In answer, Dorian pushed the scarf from his mouth easily. “How dare you underestimate the skill of my tongue!” This garnered a giggle from Maxwell.

“As if I wasn't well aware of how skilled your tongue is,” he snarked, and replaced the scarf in just the same way.

Dorian felt so open, and so exposed, and so _excited_  that he hardly knew how he’d handle whatever Maxwell wanted to do. He’d probably have been panting, if he could. As Maxwell shimmied down his body, lingering to place a wet, open-mouthed kiss on his hipbone, Dorian felt a surge of adoration so intense he had to close his eyes and collect his thoughts. Sometimes the love still took him by surprise. It was more than he deserved, to be able to love and be loved like this.

When he opened his eyes again, Maxwell was standing at the foot of the bed, eyes focused on Dorian, feet planted wide, pulling slightly with both hands at his collar. And then, he began to strip.

Nimble fingers slipped open the first button on his shirt, and he parted the fabric, revealing smooth skin, before running his own hand up his neck, over his cheekbone and into his hair. As he rolled his head back, his other hand ran slowly across his chest, down his stomach, and briefly over the very prominent erection in his trousers. Dorian’s heart pounded. Watching Maxwell touch himself was the most indescribable form of beauty. His cock twitched, desperate for contact.

Maxwell took his time on each button, teasing Dorian with glimpses of his muscled frame with every move. Dorian wanted badly to be able to talk him through this, tell Maxwell what he’d like to see and how it made him feel, but he didn't want to risk Maxwell stopping. So he kept the scarf in his mouth and basked in the glory of Maxwell Trevelyan.

And oh, it was glorious. It was as if Maxwell had a direct line to Dorian’s mind, and could predict just what to do that would have Dorian straining with need. He pulled at his shirt, spreading it wide open, and pushed his hands down his torso, across his toned stomach, until his fingertips dipped beneath the waistband of his pants. He brushed his fingertips lightly across his cock, biting his lip and rolling his head back. Dorian moaned, as much as he could through the silk in his mouth, and shifted his hips, trying to get _any_  friction on his cock. He was so hard it was almost painful.

Maxwell tilted his head around to the side and smiled a lopsided smile. “You’re being so patient, Doe. I know you want me to touch you.” Dorian whimpered. Second only to watching Maxwell touch himself was listening to Maxwell talk. “I know you want my wet tongue on you, licking you, sucking on you.” He shifted, leaning forward and placing his palms on the foot of the bed. His head bent to Dorian’s inner thigh, and he bit gently, causing Dorian to whimper again. It was unfair. It was torture. Dorian _loved_ it.

Maxwell moved his lips up Dorian’s thigh, nibbling, until he reached Dorian’s cock and licked one broad stripe from the base to the very tip. Dorian cried out, his voice muffled, and then Maxwell was on top of him.

He gently removed the scarf from Dorian’s mouth and immediately replaced it with his lips. Dorian’s heart raced as Maxwell’s tongue languorously tangled with his own, and his hands curled under Dorian’s arms, to his shoulder blades, pulling them tightly together. Dorian bucked his hips with wild abandon, the rough fabric of Maxwell’s pants providing pleasure he would no longer be denied.

This won an answering moan from Maxwell, who pushed himself backward until he sat on his heels. He was flushed and breathless, his hair starting to fall loose from its knot, and somehow his _fucking_  pants were still on. He smiled.

“Tell me what to do.”

Dorian wasted no time. “Unbutton those trousers.” Maxwell did, never taking his eyes away from Dorian’s. “Now hook your thumbs in the top - no, get your smallclothes too. Now pull them down, get them off, and throw them out the window.” He expected Maxwell to laugh, or maybe give him a light spanking, if he was lucky. What he did not expect was the predatory grin he received as Maxwell blithely clambered off the bed, stepped out of his pants and undergarments, strolled over to the balcony, and casually tossed them over the railing.

Dorian gaped. “ _Kaffas_ , Maxwell! Someone is going to _find_  those!”

“Oh yeah? Is that what you're thinking about right now?” Maxwell sauntered back to the bed, and Dorian huffed.

“Honestly, yes. Some poor young elf girl is going to be traumatized. Or Cassandra. Andraste’s tits, Cassandra is going to find your smallclothes.”

Maxwell just giggled - giggled! _The nerve of him._

“Are you telling me,” he said, climbing gracefully over the foot of the bed, planting his knees on either side of Dorian’s hips, and reaching out to caress Dorian’s waist with warm hands, “that while I sit here, naked, on top of you, naked, that you're thinking of Cassandra?” He squeezed gently, and when this failed to erase the scowl from Dorian’s face, he drew one hand across Dorian’s belly, down the crease of his groin, and palmed Dorian’s balls.

Dorian was not thinking about Cassandra.

Maxwell squeezed gently, moving his other hand up to pinch at Dorian’s nipple. Dorian squirmed, moaned, and Maxwell began his attack in earnest.

Vision swimming with desire, bound in place, Dorian was at the mercy of his wicked lover. His heart pounded in his ears as Maxwell gently rolled his balls, dipping his head down to just barely capture the tip of his cock between his lips. Dorian bit back a yelp, heat surging through his veins. Maxwell’s tongue swirled around and around the tip, ceaselessly, endlessly, while his other hand continued its assault on Dorian’s tight, sensitive nipple. Dorian was torn between trying to press his chest or his hips up for more sensation, and could do neither effectively.

Could it be called mercy when Maxwell was showing none?

Dorian felt Maxwell’s finger dip lower, suddenly smearing oil - _where had that come from?_  - along his perineum and then, lightly, over his clenched hole. Dorian’s hips jerked, and Maxwell repeated his actions, over and over and over, fingering at his hole, but refusing to enter. His mouth worked at Dorian’s cock, pumping at the top, saliva dripping until -

“Maxwell, please!” Dorian cried, past the point of being able to silently endure. His body thrummed with desire, taut as a bowstring, but needing Maxwell to release him. He was rewarded by the tip of Maxwell’s finger breaching the relaxed muscles of his hole, which only made him moan louder.

Maxwell lifted his head for a moment only, panting breathlessly. “Tell me what to do.”

He did not need telling twice.

“Slide your finger inside me. _Ohhh_ , yes, yes, like that. _Yes._  You feel so good.” He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to process both the feelings and the sight at once. “Now - _ahh_  - go to the bottom of my cock and slide your tongue up and down. Get the whole thing slick. Ah, fuck, Maxwell. Add another finger - please - _yessss_ , yes, nnngh!” He felt Maxwell press into that spot inside him, and he saw stars. Maxwell’s mouth continued to move up and down his cock, warm, wet, and then he took the whole thing inside his mouth and Dorian nearly came undone.

“Fuck me, _amatus_ , please. I need you. I need your cock inside me.” Dorian rejoiced in seeing Maxwell’s own eyes widen with desire, and he lifted off of Dorian’s throbbing cock with one final swirl of his tongue. His fingers pumped inside Dorian once more - twice - and then Dorian was achingly empty, and he needed to be filled.

He gazed through his lowered lashes at Maxwell, who sat back on his heels, squirting more oil into his palm. As Dorian watched, Maxwell grabbed his own cock and began to rock his hips into the circle of his first. At the slick, wet sound of it, Dorian moaned. Maxwell had a truly beautiful cock - thick and straight, long enough to hit Dorian’s spot and make him beg for mercy - and he needed it to be inside him. _Now_.

“Ohh,” Maxwell sighed. “That feels good, but you feel so much better.” He straightened up and placed his hands on Dorian’s thighs, but paused, examining the situation laid out in front of him.

“I think I need to untie your legs. Otherwise I'm afraid I might hurt you. Is that okay?” He stroked his right hand down to Dorian’s knee, gentle touch affirming his desire never to hurt the man he loved.

Dorian’s heart constricted - how could he always be so tender, even when what Dorian wanted from him wasn’t tender at all - and he nodded his head. Maxwell deftly untied the scarves keeping his feet spread apart, and Dorian gingerly bent his knees, which felt a bit stiff from disuse. Maxwell’s hands were on him, kneading the muscles before placing a kiss to the inside of his left knee and settling in between them.

“My love. You are exquisite.” Maxwell once again pushed a finger slowly inside Dorian, causing him to arch his back in pleasure and anticipation.

“I’m fine, Maxwell. Please, just -” Before he could finish his sentence, Maxwell withdrew his finger and pressed the crown of his cock, hot and slick with oil, against Dorian’s hole. He placed his hands behind Dorian’s bent knees, lifting his legs slightly into the air, and pressed into Dorian with a slow, measured slide. Dorian let out a soft noise, almost a whine, as he felt himself filled. Maxwell moved slowly, letting him get acclimated to the feeling of stretching, and simultaneously began to stroke Dorian’s own cock.

The sensations overwhelmed Dorian, and he threw his head back onto the pillow with a soft thump. Maxwell was murmuring endearments and twisting his large hand just so around the swollen head of Dorian’s cock and the firelight made the sweat on his dark skin glimmer and _kaffas_ , but Dorian wasn’t going to last long at all.

“Maxwell - _amatus_  - if you keep that up I’m going - I’m going to -”

“I know. Me too. Please come for me, Dorian. I want to see you.” His hand tightened on Dorian’s cock, adding just enough pressure and friction that with only a few more pumps, Dorian felt his pleasure rising and his breath quickened and his toes tingled and his vision went just a little blurry and he was coming, splashing onto his own stomach and over Maxwell’s hand. The sight seemed to spur Maxwell on, eliciting a breathy moan. Dorian spasmed around his cock and Maxwell squeezed his eyes shut, pounding into Dorian again and again until his muscles tightened and he, too, was coming. He pressed all the way into Dorian, who squeezed his thighs together around his hips, pulling them tighter together.

Slowly, Maxwell drew away and dropped to one side of Dorian, looking spent and satisfied. Dorian couldn’t prevent a smile from capturing his lips; not so long ago, he would have been calculating his escape from the situation, glib words overlying a complete lack of interest in his partner. That part of his life was done now. Instead, he had Maxwell. Gentle hands untying the ties around his wrists, carefully rubbing to restore circulation. Loving aftercare, and sweet caresses, and passionate kisses with tongues and legs tangling together.

Dorian propped himself up onto one elbow, tracing a line down Maxwell’s sternum to a rogue drop of semen just above his belly button. “You know I like when things get a bit messy,” he said, and swiped it up with a flick of his finger. Maxwell just smiled at him, apparently ready for sleep to overtake him. The poor Inquisitor. His days were so busy, full of meetings and planning. Dorian should really do something to make his life a little easier. Although it was hardly his fault if he was enticed by notes about scarves. But -

“Hang on!” he exclaimed suddenly. “You promised me 10 scarves. I only count five. What happened to the other ones, hmm? Or are you just an awful tease?”

Maxwell actually blushed, a rare sight. “Ah, well. Interesting point, that. I didn’t actually have ten scarves. Actually, I didn’t have any scarves. I had to borrow these from Josephine.”

Dorian felt his jaw drop, in a manner he was sure was quite unbecoming of him. “You what? Josephine lent you scarves for the purpose of trying me down to the bed?!”

“No!” Dorian was sure that if Maxwell had fairer skin, he would be beet red right now. “Obviously I didn’t tell her that. I just told her I needed them. She didn’t ask any questions.”

“Well. She probably knows, if we’re being honest with ourselves.” Dorian toyed with the corner of one of the scarves in question, which looked no worse for the wear after their activities. “Anyway, it probably doesn’t matter. We aren’t giving them back.”

Maxwell paused before answering. “Okay…? Why not?”

In answer, Dorian grinned and flipped on top of him, cupping Maxwell’s cheeks in his palms. “I think we might still need them for your turn, _amatus._ ” Maxwell’s face broke into a grin and they kissed, all sleepiness forgotten in the warm haze of the firelight.


End file.
